


trouble is a friend

by FreshBrains



Series: Trouble [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, POV Chris Argent, Past Relationship(s), Secret Relationship, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 19:17:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isaac is a lot more devious than Chris gives him credit for, and Chris <i>loves</i> it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	trouble is a friend

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I officially made this a series because I really wanted to revisit this dynamic. Only two parts for this one...but who knows, I may write the pairing again. Thanks everyone for your awesome feedback on [trying hard not to get into trouble](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1045438), I hope you like this addition!
> 
> Additional warnings at end notes.

Allison goes out with Scott on Thursday nights. Really, they usually go out every night, or at least saw each other _every_ night, but they have a standing Thursday night double date at the bowling alley with Erica and Boyd and stay out until at least eleven-thirty. Chris knows this because he and Allison speak more, tell each other things, are drawn closer after everything had happened. There’s trust between them.

And then Chris sits in the living room, hands clenched on his knees, and waits for Isaac Lahey to knock on the front door.

There is definitely something sick about it, something deeply perverse. It isn’t that Isaac is male, or that he’s underage, or that he fucked like he’d been fucking for _years_ , it was that he’s able to come to Chris’ house all days of the week and all hours of the day and sit next to Allison on the couch, figuring out trinomials and annotating poems in his spiral-bound notebook, eating an apple with juice running down his wrist, saying his polite _hello how are you_ ’s to Chris like he hadn’t been on his knees for him the night before.

He’s a lot more devious than Chris gives him credit for, and Chris _loves_ it.

He opens the door on Thursday night, not two minutes after Scott’s mom’s car peeled out of the driveway, and sees Isaac loping up to the front door, face fake-bored and hands shoved in his pocket. He’s got a stripe of bare skin showing between his tee shirt and jeans and Chris feels a flare of possession—no one else touches that skin, no one else tastes it, it’s all for Chris.

(Isaac likes saying it— _only you can do this to me, nobody has ever made me feel this good, you’re the best I’ve ever had_. Chris knows he’s lying, he knows what empty flattery feels like. But fuck, it feels _good_.)

“You waiting for me, Mr. Argent? Watching for me all night?” Isaac lets a half-smile creep onto his face, and he’s so handsome, he’s so young, Chris wants to just hold him and keep him safe, keep him away from all the other hypothetical middle-aged widowers who are probably itching to fuck him. But then again, he doesn’t want to see Isaac as delicate, as fragile—the kid has proved he’s a tough one.

Isaac chooses his pains and pleasures now.

Chris leans against the doorframe. “Well, I had to make sure you got here safely. Who knows what’s lurking around in Beacon Hills this time of night.”

Isaac grins and pushes Chris inside, smoothly kicking the door shut as he wraps his skinny boy-arms around Chris’ neck. “Big bad wolves? Overrated.”

“So what does that make you?” Chris is so close to Isaac their lips brush as he speaks; he can see the popping crystal blue of Isaac’s eyes. The color disappears as Isaac’s pupils expand; the kid arches against Chris, rubbing against him like he’s needed it all day.

Isaac shrugs, and mimics deep thought for a moment before baring his neck, begging for a hard, bruising kiss. “I guess I’m one of them now. Big Bad Isaac.” He smells like sweat and cotton and Chris was already half-hard in his jeans before Isaac was even through the door.

Chris laughs and smooths his palms down the hard, velvet-warm planes of Isaac’s body, wrapping them up around Isaac’s shoulders to shrug his jacket off. “I think you’re more of a Little Red.” Isaac helps him halfway through, letting his jacket fall into a heap on the floor. 

Chris’ comment makes Isaac go liquid beneath Chris’ hands; he allows Chris to pull him onto the couch, their legs tangled together. Isaac holds himself up for a second, hands pressed to Chris’ chest, and lets Chris see his eyes glow yellow for only a moment. He knows it still gets to Chris sometimes, that burn, that light—it still means danger to Chris. It means death and destruction.

Chris’ erection twitches in his jeans, and Isaac straddles his thigh, moving their bodies together. Isaac’s dick is hard in his pants and he unzips with one hand, shameless and ready to go. “Mr. Argent,” he says breathlessly, leaning down for a kiss. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you the version of the fairy tale…” he’s distracted, his lean body writhes against Chris, hips squirming. “The version where Little Red ends up being the wolf all along?” He presses his lips against Chris’, soft and wet and perfect. 

Chris groans and pulls Isaac flush against him. “No, I’ve never heard that one.” He kisses Isaac again, gentle and full and plush, until Isaac is panting for it. Then he parts his lips, dips his tongue into Isaac’s mouth, and relishes in the effect it has on Isaac. It doesn’t matter how many teenage boys or girls Isaac has kissed, the first touch of tongue against tongue when you’re seventeen years old is like a bolt of lightning, it always feels new and dirty.

“I’ll tell it to you sometimes,” Isaac says with an exhilarated laugh. He sits up on Chris’ legs; his hair is a tumbled mess and there’s a slick of spit on his chin. He wipes it away with the back of his wrist and stands up. “But now you’re going to fuck me in the shower. We haven’t done that yet.” He peels off his shirt and makes his way up the stairs.

Chris groans, tossing an arm over his eyes. He thinks he can’t get much harder, but it feels like he’s ready to burst into flames. Isaac always surprises him with his curious confidence, his willingness to be bold and push harder. They’d already fucked in Chris’ bed, on the bedroom floor, on the couch, in Chris’ car. Sometimes it wasn’t so good—it was cramped, Chris isn’t as limber as he used to be, some surfaces seem more fun to fuck on than they are in reality. But Isaac likes the adventure of it, and Chris is honored that Isaac wants him along for the ride.

He follows Isaac upstairs, sees a coquettish trail of clothes leading to the bathroom. He gathers them and tucks them into his bedroom; one errant sock could mean being discovered by Allison at a later date. “Come on, Mr. Argent, Mrs. McCall wants me home by eleven.”

Chris sighs, accepts that he’s going to hell, and pulls his shirt off. Isaac is bent over the bathtub in his boxer briefs, bright red and most likely brand new, since Isaac found the need to figure out Chris’ buttons and push them as hard as he could. The room is already steamy and sticky, and Isaac glances over his shoulder. “This is a nice tub. Does it have jets?”

Chris shrugs. “Don’t know, I never take baths.”

“Didn’t Mrs. Argent?”

It was supposed to sting, it was supposed to send Chris into dizzying, grief-ridden flashbacks. But for all of Isaac’s teasing and challenging glances, he never mentioned Victoria out of cruelty. It was the product of closeness, of accidental intimacy. Those sorts of questions just beg to bed asked after three-odd months of covert fucking around.

“No, we were always too busy. Always on the move. Come on, get your ass in there, you look freezing.”

Isaac shivers and smiles; his pale skin is broken out in goose-bumps. He climbs into the shower and the warm water beats down on his back, sluices down his body. He turns and holds his hand out to Chris. “You joining me?”

Chris sheds the rest of his clothes and steps into the shower with Isaac—for the first time, he notices the smudges of dirt on Isaac’s neck, the dust in his hair. Chris curses himself for not remembering—the full moon is coming, Isaac is on edge with anger and arousal and the need to run and fuck until it burned out of him.

Isaac looks down, water running down his neck, and says, “I don’t know what it is…about the moon. It feels like I have something running under my skin. Like I need…” His erection is angry and red against his stomach, he looks flustered, warm, _open_.

Chris holds Isaac, pulls him into the warm circle of his arms, the hot water slicking them together. It’s like being in a cave—damp, private, safe. “Do you need to be touched, Isaac?” Chris’ voice comes out husky, dark. For all the time they’ve spent sneaking around, Chris feels like Isaac is still so often a mystery.

Isaac exhales deeply and closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them up, they’re ringed in yellow again, and takes Chris hands, moves them to his ass. “ _Yes_.”

Chris groans, heat flaring in his stomach, his face burns with need. He almost forgets the feel of skin beneath his hands in the time between meetings with Isaac, he forgets the softness of youth, the muscle of young man, the eagerness. Before he can pull himself together, he takes Isaac’s ass more firmly in his hands and _squeezes_ , runs his finger in the damp cleft, touches him where he’s the most untouched.

“That’s it,” Isaac moans, breathy and deeply satisfied, melting into Chris’ arms. “That’s what I need.” He walks them back so Chris has him pressed against the shower stall, body curved over Isaac’s. “Fuck me in here, I want it.”

“You’re insane,” Chris laughs, mouth pressed slickly against Isaac’s temple. Isaac makes himself small with Chris, hunches over, makes himself lanky and tiny and sweet, even though he has a few inches on Chris and half a foot on kids his age. Chris doesn’t know why he does it, but it doesn’t bother him enough to question it. “I don’t actually keep, uh…supplies in the shower.”

Isaac shakes his head, damp curls plastered to his forehead. He leans in and kisses Chris, wet and dirty. He grinds his hips into Chris’, their cocks sliding together, and moans. “I don’t care, I don’t…I just need it, fuck me dry, I don’t care.”

He’s said it before. Chris never listens. He’s coward enough to admit to fucking a high school kid, but he won’t be a jerk about it. “We have a couple hours,” Chris says gently, pressing one hand to the small of Isaac’s back and wrapping one hand around his hard cock. “I’ll take care of you.”

Isaac keens, let’s Chris tease him, and right when he’s on the edge, he pushes Chris away. He carefully moves one leg higher, searching for purchase, running his hands through the light black-grey hair on Chris’ chest. “Rub off against me. Rut me.”

Chris doesn’t know if he likes it—werewolves rut, men _fuck_. But he likes the feeling of Isaac’s ass against his cock, open and eager and ready for him, and he slides his cock against the tight clench of him. “Turn around.”

Isaac obeys, breathing heavily, and presses his forehead against the shower wall. The water is getting cool, but neither of them says anything. He arches his back—he’s all smooth lines and tight curves, baring the pink pucker of his body to Chris, and Chris closes his eyes tight. He can’t take it sometimes; he can’t fathom why Isaac comes to him, why he asks _Chris_ for what he needs, what he wants.

But he’s just coward enough to take his pleasure either way.

He jerks himself, long slow pulls, the head of his cock pressed against Isaac’s hole. Isaac pants like an animal in heat, and arches around to wrap his arm around Chris’ neck, begging for a kiss. “Come on me, I like that.”

Chris shudders and comes, hard, like Isaac’s voice is a switch that can turn him on and off.

Isaac plasters his hands against the shower wall, still breathing heavily, the shower washing Chris’ come off his back. “Yeah,” he breathes, still bent over and bare. “Yeah, I love that.” His own hand works over his cock; he swats Chris’ hand away when he reaches around.

Chris tells himself it’s all worth it. It’s worth the secrets and shame to hear things like that come out of Isaac’s mouth. He’s _almost_ coward enough to believe himself. He kisses the soft area between Isaac’s shoulder blades, feels the tightening of his muscles as he comes.

Chris turns the water off and the house is silent, save for the creaking pipes. He reaches over and grabs a towel, Isaac still hasn’t turned around. But Chris works the towel through Isaac’s hair, drying him off, keeping him warm.

“You’re one of the good ones, Mr. Argent,” Isaac mumbles, sleepy after his orgasm.

_It’s all worth it_ , Chris thinks.

**Author's Note:**

> As tagged, this fic includes **underage sex**. Isaac is seventeen. Chris exhibits some morally ambiguous lines of thinking when it comes to sex with Isaac, and he admits that what he is doing is not legal or ethical. And depending on how you read the previous fic, Isaac can be read as sexually manipulative with Chris. But that is ambiguous.
> 
> Chris' past relationship with Victoria is mentioned.
> 
> I so rarely write explicit smut, so tell me what y'alls think!


End file.
